The gentle strings of the light guitar, Waking soft echoes from memory's chords, And tender dreams of home— The noise, and the pomp, and the glitter of war; The furious charge, and the clashing swords; The song of the rolling drum.

How many a young heart has, in these later days, been turned from soft guitar-tones of idleness, to the brave, rattling measures of drum-life! It will do good, this war of ours; and many a brave fellow will, in after years, look back upon it as the school in which he first learned to be a thoroughly practical and sensible MAN.

* * * * *

We are indebted to a gossiping and ever most welcome New Haven friend for the following anecdote of one of the men who, clothed in a little brief authority, 'go about 'restin' people:'

Our village we consider one of the most pleasant in the country; our boys full of life and activity, and our officers men of energy and perseverance, and men who understand their importance. In proof of these assertions, I offer the following sketch of an occurrence a few years ago.

DICK BARNES was a blacksmith, and a man of considerable notoriety in those days, and from the peculiar prominence of his front upper teeth he had derived, from the boys of the village, the singular nick-name of 'Tushy.' For two or three successive years he had been elected constable, and the duties of this great public office appeared to demand that he should neglect his legitimate private business, so that it was said that the safest place for him to secrete himself—the most unlikely place where he would be sought—would be behind his own anvil. Like many others 'clothed with a little brief authority' he was not overmodest in showing his importance.

The boys were then, as they are now, fond of skating, and there was a large pond near the centre of the village on which they used to have fine times on moonlight evenings, and especially Sunday evenings, and, as a natural consequence, when large numbers of boys are engaged in sport, they were somewhat noisy.

One Sunday evening, when the ice was very smooth and the boys were enjoying themselves, BARNES made his appearance on the ice and ordered them off, in tones, and exclamations of authority. The boys did not like this interference in their sports and couldn't see the justice of his demand. 'That's old Tushy,' says one, and the cry of 'Tushy,' 'Tushy,' soon passed among the crowd of skaters, till BARNES began to think it personal, and was determined to catch one of them and make of him an example. The ice was 'glib,' as they termed it, and as they all had skates except 'Tushy,' they were rather rude in their behavior towards him,—a not very uncommon circumstance,—and though they were careful to keep out of harm's way, they kept near enough to him to annoy him. Finding all efforts to catch one of them fruitless, with the advantage they had,—for 'the wicked stand on slippery places,'—he announced his determination to catch one of them anyhow, and started for the shore.

Boys are usually quicker in arriving at conclusions than older people, and one of them suggested that he had gone for his skates. 'Good! now we'll have some fun, boys,' says Phil Clark, who was a good skater, and withal a good leader in a frolic. 'You follow me and do as I tell you, and I don't believe old "Tushy" will follow us far.' By general consent he led them to the dry, sandy shore, and such as had them filled their handkerchiefs, and such as could not boast of that superfluity filled their caps, with sand. 'Now,' says Phil, 'when he comes back, and it won't be long, we'll form a line and wait till he gets his skates on, when he'll put chase for some of us. If he gets near any of us, some one sing out "Bully," and every boy drop his sand, and if he catches any one we'll all pitch in.'

'Tushy' in a little while made his appearance, and soon had his skates strapped to his feet, and after a few stamps upon the ice, to see that they were properly secured, glided a few strokes and started off for the boys. The moon was shining 'as bright as day,' and old Tushy's movements were perfectly apparent. The pond was huge, and afforded a good opportunity for a trial of speed, and, though many of the boys were good skaters, 'Tushy' perseveringly determined to capture one of them, and started for the one nearest. This was 'Phil,' who was the master spirit of the frolic, and as 'Tushy' approached with almost the certainty of capturing him, he would glide gracefully aside and let him pass on. He had almost caught up with a group of the smaller boys who were going at full speed, when 'Phil' shouted out the word 'Bully.' In an instant the contents of handkerchiefs and caps was deposited on the glaring ice, the boys continuing their flying course. 'Tushy,' elated with the prospect of capturing at least one of the urchins, increased his speed with lunger strides, and was in the act of grasping one, when the sparks from his steel runners, the sudden arrest of his feet and the onward movement of his body, convinced him that he was caught. The impetus he had acquired with the few last strokes on the smooth ice, and the sudden check his feet had received from the sand, sent him sliding headlong many yards towards an air-hole,—one of those dangerous places on ponds suddenly frozen,—and soon the ice began to crack around him. The water in the pond was not deep, but the ice continued to break with his efforts to extricate himself. He found that the boys had successfully entrapped him, and it was not until he had made a promise not again to interfere with their sport that they consented to assist him out. He kept his promise, and the boys ever after, when they designed any extra sport on the ice, had his nick-name for a by-word.

JAY G. BEE.

* * * * *

'Salt,' according to MORESINUS, 'is sacred to the infernal deities,'—for which reason, we presume, those who were seated 'below the salt' at the banquets of the Middle Ages were always 'poor devils.' Attic salt is always held to be more pungent when there is a touch of the diabolical and caustic in it,—and therefore caustic itself is known as lapis infernalis. 'Poor Mr. N——,' said a country dame, of a recently deceased neighbor who was over-thrifty, 'he always saved his salt and lost his pork.' 'Yes,' replied a friend, 'and now the salt has lost its Saver.' The reader has doubtless heard of the lively young lady, named Sarah, whom her friends rechristened Sal Volatile. Apropos—a New Haven friend writes us that—

My chum, Dr. B., is not a little of a wag. At a social gathering, shortly after he had received his diploma, the young ladies were very anxious to put his knowledge of medicine to the test. 'Doctor,' queried one of the fair, 'what will cure a man who has been hanged?' 'Salt is the best thing I know of,' replied the tormented, with great solemnity.

* * * * *

According to a cotemporary—the Boston Herald—the best Christians may be known by the pavements before their houses being cleaned of ice and snow. This reminds us of a spiritual anecdote. A deceased friend having been summoned through a medium and asked where he had spent the first month after his decease, rapped out,—

'I-n—p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y.'

'Did you find it uncomfortable?'

'Not very. While I lived I always had my pavements cleared in winter, and all the ice and snow shoveled away was given back to me in orange-water ices, Roman punch, vanilla and pistachio creams, frozen fruits, cobblers, juleps, and smashes.'

Somebody has spoken in an Arctic voyage of the musical vibrations of the ice. There is certainly music in the article. 'Take care,' said a Boston girl to her companion, as they were navigating the treacherously slippery pavement of our city a few days since; 'it's See sharp or Be flat.'

* * * * *

Somebody once wrote a book on visiting-cards. There is a great variety of that article; an English ambassador once papered his entire suit of rooms with that with which a Chinese mandarin honored him. MICHAEL ANGELO left a straight line as a card, and was recognized by it. Our friend H—— once distributed blank pasteboards in Philadelphia, and everybody said, 'Why, H—— has been here!' Not long since, a lady dwelling in New York asked her seven-year-old GEORGY where he had been.

'Out visiting.'

'Did you leave your card?'

'No; I hadn't any, so I left a marble!'

GEORGY'S idea was that cards were playthings. And cartes de visite are most assuredly the playthings for children of an older growth, most in vogue at the present day. Go where you will, the albums are examined, nay, some collectors have even one or two devoted solely to children, or officers, or literary men, or young ladies. The following anecdote records, however, as we believe, 'an entirely new style' of visiting-card:—

Madam X. was busy the other morning. Miss Fanny Z. 'just ran in to see her' en amie, without visiting-cards.

The waiter carried her name to Madam X. Meanwhile Miss Fannie, circulating through the parlors, saw that there was dust on the lower shelf of an etagere, so she delicately traced the letters

Smut

thereon and therefore. Waiter enters, and regrets that Madam X. is so very much engaged that she is invisible. Miss Fanny flies home.

In the evening she meets Madam X., who is 'perfectly enchanted' to see her. 'Ah, Fanny, dear, I am charmed to see you; the waiter forgot your name this morning, but I was delighted to see your ingenuity. Would you believe it, the first thing I saw on entering the parlor was your card on the etagere!'

* * * * *

The Naugatuck railroad, according to a friend of the CONTINENTAL,

Is in many places cut through a rugged country, and the rocks thereabout have an ugly trick of rolling down upon the track when they get tired of lying still. So the company employ sentinels who traverse the dangerous territory before the morning train goes through. One of these,—Pat K. by name,—while on his beat, met Dennis, whose hand he had last shaken on the 'Green Isle.' After mutual inquiries and congratulations, says Dennis, 'What are you doin' these days, Pat?' 'Oh, I'm consarned in this railroad company. I go up the road fur the likes o' four miles ivry mornin' to see is there ony rocks on the thrack.' 'And if there is?' 'Why, I stops the trains, sure.' 'Faith,' said Dennis, 'what the divil's the good o' that—wouldn't the rocks stop 'em?'

* * * * *

The Hibernian idea of a meeting is, we should judge, peculiar, and not, as a rule, amicable. 'What are ye doing here, Pat?' inquired one of the Green Islanders who found a friend one morning in a lonely spot. 'Troth, Dinnis, and it's waiting to mate a gintleman here I'm doing.' 'Waiting for a frind is it?' replied Dennis; 'but where is yer shillaly thin?' This was indeed a misapprehension, and of the kind which, as a benevolent clergyman complained, who was actively engaged in home mission work, was one of the most constant sources of his frequent annoyances. 'Why,' he remarked, 'it was only the other morning that I heard of a poor girl who was dying near the Five Points, and went to administer to her such comfort as it might be in my power to render. I met an impudent miss leaving the room, who, when I inquired for the sufferer by name, replied, "It's no use; you're too late, old fellow,—she's give me her pocket-book and all her things."'

* * * * *

A friend has called our attention to the following extract from an advertisement in a New York evening paper, and requests an explanation:—

STRABISMUS, OR CROSS-EYE, IN ITS WORST STAGES, CURED IN ONE MINUTE. READ!

NEWARK, August 14th, 1861.

Dear Doctor: I write to express my thanks for the great difference you have made in my appearance by your operation on my eye. I have had a squint, or cross-eye, since birth, and in less than one minute, and with VERY LITTLE PAIN, you have made my eyes perfectly straight and natural. Having consulted in Europe the greatest Aurists, I, therefore, can testify that your system of restoring the hearing to the deaf is at once scientific, safe and sure; and I confidently recommend all deaf to place themselves under your care. W.T.

There's a nut to crack. Having had a cross-eye cured in one minute, Mr. T. can therefore testify that the system by which he was enabled to see is just the thing to enable the deaf to hear! But an instant's reflection convinced us of the true state of the case. There is an old German song which translated saith:

'I am the Doctor Iron-beer, The one who makes the blind to hear, The man who makes the deaf to see:— Come with your invalids to me.'

We evidently have a Doctor Iron-beer among us. 'He still lives,' and enables people to outdo the clairvoyants, who read with their fingers, by qualifying his patients to peruse the papers with their auricular organs.

* * * * *

Walter will receive our thanks for the following aesthetic communication:—

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

Do you know the superb picture of Judith and Holofernes, by ALLORI? Of course. But the legend?

The painter ALLORI was blessed and cursed with a mistress, one of the most beautiful women in an age of beauty. He loved her, and she tormented him, until, to set forth his sufferings, he painted la belle dame sans mercy as Judith, holding his own decapitated head by the hair.

'She was more than a match for her lover,' said a young lady, who—between us—I think is more beautiful than the 'Judith.'

'Yes,' was the answer; 'the engraving proves that she got a-head of him.'

Of course it was Holofernally bad. I once heard a better one on the same subject, of scriptural be-head-edness. Where is a centaur first mentioned? John's head on a charger. The postage stamp on your lawyer's bill—mine especially—represents the same thing, with the substitution of General Washington for John. Rarey tamed Cruiser—I wonder if he could do anything by way of 'taking down' this legal 'charger' of mine.

Yours truly, WALTER

* * * * *

Much has been written on oysters. There was a time when England sent nothing else abroad. 'The poor Britons—they are good for something,' says SALLUST, in 'The Last Days of Pompeii;' 'they produce an oyster.' In these days, they export no oysters, but in lieu thereof give us plenty of pepper-sauce. But to the point,—we mean to the poem,—for which we are indebted to a Philadelphia contributor:—

OYSTERS!

He stood beside the oysters. Near him lay A dozen raw upon the half-shell: he With fork stood ready to engulf them all, When to his side a reverend gray-beard came. Pointing his index finger to the Natives, Slowly he spoke, with measured voice and low:— 'They are the same, THE SAME! I've eaten them In London, small and coppery; at Ostend, A little better; and in the Condotti, Yea, in the Lepre—'tis an eating-house Frequented by the many-languaged artists Of great imperial Rome. At Baiae: also I've tasted that nice kind described by MARTIAL, Who calls them ears of Venus;—there I've had 'em. Also at Memphis—now I'm coming to it: I've seen amid the desert sands of Egypt, Exposed among the hieroglyphs, these Natives. (The hieroglyphs, you know, are outward forms Of things or creatures which unfold strange myths, Read by the common eye in vulgar way, But to the learned are types of truths gigantic.) Thus unto you those oysters are but bivalves; But unto me they're—P'raps you'll stand a dozen?' 'Well, I will, old hoss; it seems to me you need 'em!' 'Good! Then to me they are as hieroglyphs Of our poor human state; as PLATO says, "The soul of man, a substance different from The body as the oyster from the shell, Does stick to it, and is imprisoned in it. Its weight of shell doth keep it down and force it To stay upon its muddy bottom. So does Man's body hold his soul in these dark regions, Keeping it ever steadily from rising To those superior heights where are abodes More fitting its serene and noble nature." Good as a quarter-dollar lecture. Boy! fork over.' 'Another "doz." to this old gentleman; For I perceive he plainly hath it in him To swallow down two dozen oysters' souls. See what it is to be a philosopher!'

This is indeed finding sermons in 'shells.'

* * * * *

'Punning is a power,' according to somebody, and, like most power, is sadly abused. Take, for illustration, the following specimen of the 'narrative pun:'

The reader knows that BYRON once punned on the word Bullet-in, and was proud of it; distinctly proud, be it remembered. After which comes the following:—

Some years ago it was summer time, and in the office of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, one, as the French say, was preparing the daily paper. Along Third Street streamed Shinners, Bulls, Bears, and Newsboys,—in the sanctum, Editors wrote and clipped,—proof rose up and down in the dumb waiter,—there was the shrill scream of the whistle calling to the foreman far on high,—

Suddenly there was a tremendous run in the front office.

A maddened cow,—an infuriate, delirious, over-driven animal,—breaking loose from the cow-herdly creature who had her in charge,—careered wildly past the Ledger building.

One would have thought that the straw paper on which that sheet was then printed might have tempted her to repose.

It didn't.

Past FORNEY'S paper:—he was proprietor of the Pennsylvanian in those days. Those days!—when he was Warwick, the king-maker, and carried Pennsylvania for Old Buck. Bitter were the changes in aftertimes, and bitterly did Forney give fits where he had before bestowed benefits. On went the cow.

Right smack into the office of the evening paper, then engineered by ALEXANDER CUMMINGS, now held by GIBSON PEACOCK.

Rush! went the cow. Right into the next door—turn to the left, oh, infuriate—charge into the newsboys! By Santa Maria, little DUCKEY is down—ha! Saint Joseph! the beast gains the front office—she faceth streetwards—she jaculates herself outwards—she is gone.

By the door stood a Philadelphia punster.

The cow switched him with her tail; he heeded it not. His soul felt the morning gleam of a revelation,—the flash of a Boehmic Aurora,—

Far, far above the world, oh dreamer!—in the pure land of Pun-light, where the silent Calembergs rise in the sunset sea.

And he spake,—

'I see you have A COW LET OUT there, and a BULL LET IN HERE!'

This is going through a great deal to get at a pun, says some over-heated and perspiring disciple.

Well—and why not?

Have you never heard of the clergyman who preached an entire sermon on the slave-trade, and gave a detailed account of its head-quarters, the kingdom of Abomi?

And why?

Merely that he might ring it into them bitterly, fiercely, with this conclusion:

'My hearers, let us pray that this Abomi-Nation may be rooted out from the face of the earth.'

That was so. Consummatum est.

No wonder we hear so much of the sufferings and sorrows of the Third Estate—which is the editorial.

* * * * *

'Wine is sometimes wine, but not very often in these days:' what it very often is not when labelled 'Heidsick' and 'Rheims.' 'But then the cork proves it, you know,'—for, by a strange superstition, it is assumed that when the cork is correct the wine is not less so; a theory which is exploded by a revelation in the following by no means Bacchanalian lyric:—

BOGUS CHAMPAGNE.

Fill up your glass with turnip-juice, And let us swindled be; Except in England's cloudy clime Such trash you may not see. With marble-dust and vitriol, 'Twill sparkle bright and foam,— Who will not pledge me in a cup Of champagne—made at home?

We do not heed the label fair That's stuck upon the glass; It's counterfeit,—an ugly cheat, That takes in many an ass. The cork is branded right, and we Know that it once corked wine; They give the hotel-waiters tin To save the genuine!

Think of this when you next 'wish you had given the price of that last bottle of champagne to the Tract Society,' as Cecil Dreeme hath it.

* * * * *

One of the best repartees on record is that of WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, who, having been reproached with inconsistency for having taken from his journal the old motto, 'The Constitution is a league with Death and a covenant with Hell,' replied that 'when he hoisted that motto, he had no idea that either death or hell intended to secede. Circumstances alter cases, and definitions modify both. Slavery, it now appears, is death, as every political economist claims, while the South is—the other place.

* * * * *

The following is from one who was not 'well off for soap:'—

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

It was my fortune, some time ago, while traveling through the New England States, to lose my trunk, on my way to a very thriving manufacturing village. Arrived at the principal hotel a few minutes before the dinner hour, I was shown up to my room, every article of furniture in which sparkled with newness,—its carpet shining like fireworks, curtains painfully stiff, and the air redolent of novelty.

One article of furniture, which I took to be a cottage piano or melodeon, turned out, on raising the lid, to be a wash-stand, amply munitioned with water, towels, and a new piece of soap. Having noticed that the article had never been used, and my own being lost with my trunk, I determined to put it to its legitimate destination.

I commenced rubbing it between my hands, immersing it in water, passing it quickly from one hand to the other, and using all other persuasive attempts to solve it into lather. Useless; it was un-lather-able, and hearing the gong sound for dinner, I gave it up as a hopeless job.

After dinner, in conversation with the landlord, he asked me how I liked my room. I told him that it pleased me very well, and that I had but one fault to find,—that was, that the soap in the wash-stand was the hardest I had ever seen, and I believed it was made of iron.

'Well,' said he, with a diabolical smile, 'it is hard soap, and it ort to be—it's iron-y—for it's Cast-Steel!'

* * * * *

The annexed may be read with profit by the charitable:—

H—— has never yet been known to give one cent in charity. A Christian called on him, the other day, and begged him to give something to a soup society.

'Ah-h-h!' said H., 'war times, now. Can't give anything.'

'The soup society is very poor, and would be thankful for the smallest sum.'

'Would it?' said H., cheerfully. 'Why, then, twice one are two. Good-morning.'

This, we presume, may be called figuring as a benefactor.

* * * * *

Our Arabic-studying friend has supplied us with a fresh batch of oriental proverbs:—

'A monkey solicited hospitality from devils. "Young gentleman," they replied, "the house is quite empty of provisions."'

'Eat whatever thou likest, but dress as others do.'

'Like a needle, that clothes people, and is itself naked.'

'He who makes chaff of himself the cows will eat.'

'Give me wool to-day, and take sheep to-morrow.'

'He is high-minded but empty-bellied.'

'Easier to be broken than the house of a spider.'

'He descends like the foot of a crow, and ascends (like) the hoof of a camel.'

But all yield in grim drollery to the last given:—

'There are no fans in hell.'

Which, as our friend declares, 'sounds as Western as Eastern.' Verily, extremes meet.

* * * * *

Many of our exchanges have spoken of the series entitled 'Among the Pines,' now publishing in this Magazine, as being written by FREDERICK LAW OLMSTED. In justice to Mr. OLMSTED we would state that he is not the author of the articles in question, and regret that the unauthorized statement should have obtained such general credence.

A statement has also appeared in many journals declaring that the literary matter of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY is the same with that published in the KNICKERBOCKER Magazine. We need not say that it is entirely false, as any reader may ascertain for himself who will take the pains to compare the two publications. Not one line has ever appeared in common in the Magazines. The Knickerbocker is printed and PUBLISHED in New York, at No. 532 Broadway, the CONTINENTAL in Boston, at No. 110 Tremont Street.

* * * * *

The editor of the CONTINENTAL begs leave to repeat that as the principal object of the Magazine is to draw forth such views as may be practically useful in the present crisis, its pages will always be open to contributions even of a widely varying character, the only condition being that they shall be written by friends of the Union. And we call special attention to the fact that while holding firmly to our own views, as set forth under the Editorial heading, we by no means profess to endorse those of our contributors, but shall leave the reader to make his own comments on these.

* * * * *

Readers will confer a favor by forwarding to us any pamphlets, secession or Union, on the war, which they may be disposed to spare.



THE KNICKERBOCKER

FOR 1862.

In the beginning of the last year, when its present proprietors assumed control of the Knickerbocker, they announced their determination to spare no pains to place it in its true position as the leading literary Monthly in America. When rebellion had raised a successful front, and its armies threatened the very existence of the Republic, it was impossible to permit a magazine, which in its circulation reached the best intellects in the land, to remain insensible or indifferent to the dangers which threatened the Union. The proprietors accordingly gave notice, that it would present in its pages, forcible expositions with regard to the great question of the times,—how to preserve the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA in their integrity and unity. How far this pledge has been redeemed the public must judge. It would, however, be mere affectation to ignore the seal approbation which has been placed on these efforts. The proprietors gratefully acknowledge this, and it has led them to embark in a fresh undertaking, as already announced,—the publication of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, devoted to Literature and National Policy; in which magazine, those who have sympathized with the political opinions recently set forth in the KNICKERBOCKER, will find the same views more fully enforced and maintained by the ablest and most energetic minds in America.

The KNICKERBOCKER, while it will continue firmly pledged to the cause of the Union, will henceforth be more earnestly devoted to literature, and will leave no effort untried to attain the highest excellence in those departments of letters which it has adopted as specialties.

The January number commences its thirtieth year. With such antecedents as it possesses, it seems unnecessary to make any especial pledges as to its future, but it may not be amiss to say that it will be the aim of its conductors to make it more and more deserving of the liberal support it has hitherto received. The same eminent writers who have contributed to it during the past year will continue to enrich its pages, and in addition, contributions will appear from others of the highest reputation, as well as from many rising authors. While it will, as heretofore, cultivate the genial and humorous, it will also pay assiduous attention to the higher departments of art and letters, and give fresh and spirited articles on such biographical, historical, scientific, and general subjects as are of especial interest to the public.

In the January issue will commence a series of papers by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, entitled "SUNSHINE IN LETTERS," which will be found interesting to scholars as well as to the general reader, and in an early number will appear the first chapters of a NEW and INTERESTING NOVEL, descriptive of American life and character.

According to the unanimous opinion of the American press, the KNICKERBOCKER has been greatly improved during the past year, and it is certain that at no period of its long career did it ever attract more attention or approbation. Confident of their enterprise and ability, the proprietors are determined that it shall be still more eminent in excellence, containing all that is best of the old, and being continually enlivened by what is most brilliant of the new.

TERMS.—Three dollars a year, in advance. Two copies for Four Dollars and fifty cents. Three copies for Six dollars. Subscribers remitting Three Dollars will receive as a premium, (post-paid,) a copy of Richard B. Kimball's great work, "THE REVELATIONS OF WALL STREET," to be published by G.P. Putnam, early in February next, (price $1.) Subscribers remitting Four Dollars will receive the KNICKERBOCKER and the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY for one year. As but one edition of each number of the Knickerbocker is printed, those desirous of commencing with the volume should subscribe at once.

The publisher, appreciating the importance of literature to the soldier on duty, will send a copy gratis, during the continuance of the war, to any regiment in active service, on application being made by its Colonel or Chaplain. Subscriptions will also be received from those desiring it sent to soldiers in the ranks at half price, but in such cases it must be mailed from the office of publication.

J.R. GILMORE, 532 Broadway, New York.

C.T. EVANS, General Agent, 532 Broadway, New York.

All communications and contributions, intended for the Editorial department, should be addressed to CHARLES G. LELAND, Editor of the "Knickerbocker," care of C.T. EVANS, 532 Broadway, New York.

Newspapers copying the above and giving the Magazine monthly notices, will be entitled to an exchange.



PROSPECTUS OF The Continental Monthly

* * * * *

There are periods in the world's history marked by extraordinary and violent crises, sudden as the breaking forth of a volcano, or the bursting of a storm on the ocean. These crimes sweep away in a moment the landmarks of generations. They call out fresh talent, and give to the old a new direction. It is then that new ideas are born, new theories developed. Such periods demand fresh exponents, and new men for expounders.

This Continent has lately been convulsed by an upheaving so sudden and terrible that the relations of all men and all classes to each other are violently disturbed, and people look about for the elements with which to sway the storm and direct the whirlwind. Just at present, we do not know what all this is to bring forth; but we do know that great results MUST flow from such extraordinary commotions.

At a juncture so solemn and so important, there is a special need that the intellectual force of the country should be active and efficient. It is a time for great minds to speak their thoughts boldly, and to take position as the advance guard. To this end, there is a special want unsupplied. It is that of an Independent Magazine, which shall be open to the first intellects of the land, and which shall treat the issues presented, and to be presented to the country, in a tone no way tempered by partisanship, or influenced by fear, favor, or the hope of reward; which shall seize and grapple with the momentous subjects that the present disturbed state of affairs heave to the surface, and which CAN NOT be laid aside or neglected.

To meet this want, the undersigned have commenced, under the editorial charge of CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, the publication of a new Magazine, devoted to Literature and National Policy.

In POLITICS, it will advocate, with all the force at its command, measures best adapted to preserve the oneness and integrity of these United States. It will never yield to the idea of any disruption of this Republic, peaceably or otherwise; and it will discuss with honesty and impartiality what must be done to save it. In this department, some of the most eminent statesmen of the time will contribute regularly to its pages.

In LITERATURE, it will be sustained by the best writers and ablest thinkers of this country. Life, by RICHARD B. KIMBALL, ESQ., the very popular author of "The Revelations of Wall Street," "St. Leger," &c. A series of papers by HON. HORACE GREELEY, embodying the distinguished author's observations on the growth and development of the Great West. A series of articles by the author of "Through the Cotton States," containing the result of an extended tour in the seaboard Slave States, just prior to the breaking out of the war, and presenting a startling and truthful picture of the real condition of that region. No pains will be spared to render the literary attractions of the CONTINENTAL both brilliant and substantial. The lyrical or descriptive talents of the most eminent literati have been promised to its pages; and nothing will be admitted which will not be distinguished by marked energy, originality, and solid strength. Avoiding every influence or association partaking of clique or coterie, it will be open to all contributions of real merit, even from writers differing materially in their views; the only limitation required being that of devotion to the Union, and the only standard of acceptance that of intrinsic excellence.

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N.B.—Newspapers publishing this Prospectus, and giving the CONTINENTAL monthly notices, will be entitled to an exchange.



FOOTNOTES:

[A] Journey in the Back Country. By Frederick Law Olmsted.

[B] The Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Sentinel, of June 3, contained a confirmation of these statements in regard to Northern Alabama. A gentleman returned from 'a prolonged tour through the cotton States' communicated a narrative, which demonstrated that the people of Huntsville and vicinity were very hostile to secession in January, that 'at Athens the stars and stripes floated over the court house long after the State had enacted the farce of secession,' and that, even in May, open opposition to secession existed 'in the mountain portion of Alabama, a large tract of country, embracing about one-third of the State, lying adjacent to and south of the Tennessee valley.' The writer added, 'IN THEIR MOUNTAIN FASTNESSES THEY DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY, OR THE POWER OF ITS RULERS.'

[C] It is proved, by the great increase of the cotton crop during this period, that the surplus increase of slaves was mainly composed of field hands purchased in the border States.

[D] 'The Edwards Family;' page 11.

[E] 'If some learned philosopher who had been abroad, in giving an account of the curious observations he had made in his travels, should say he had been in Terra del Fuego, and there had seen an animal, which he calls by a certain name, that begat and brought forth itself, and yet had a sire and dam distinct from itself; that it had an appetite and was hungry before it had a being; that his master, who led him and governed by him, and driven by him where he pleased; that when he moved he always took a step before the first step; that he went with his head first, and yet always went tail foremost, and this though he had neither head nor tail,' etc. etc.—Freedom of the Will, part 4.

[F] Sismondi's History of the French.

[G] Benoit, Hist. Rev. Edict of Nantes, book 7.

[H] Dr. Baird, vol. I. p. 174.

[I] Oxford town records.

[J] Vandenkemp's Alb. Rec. viii.

[K] Instances are frequent where Southern gentlemen form these left-handed connections, and rear two sets of differently colored children; but it is not often that the two families occupy the same domicil. The only other case within my personal knowledge was that of the well-known President of the Bank of St. M——, at Columbia, Ga. That gentleman, whose note ranked in Wall Street, when the writer was acquainted with that locality, as 'A No. 1,' lived for fifteen years with two 'wives' under one roof. One—an accomplished white woman, and the mother of several children—did the honors of his table, and moved with him in 'the best society;' the other—a beautiful quadroon, also the mother of several children—filled the humbler office of nurse to her own and the other's offspring.

In conversation with a well-known Southern gentleman, not long since, I mentioned these two cases, and commented on them as a man educated with New England ideas might be supposed to do. The gentleman admitted that he knew of twenty such instances, and gravely defended the practice as being infinitely more moral and respectable than the more relation existing between masters and slaves.

[L] Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is a name. A slave has no family designation. It may be for that reason that a high-sounding appellation is usually selected for the single one he is allowed to appropriate.

[M] It is not now improper to broach this button ruse, because it was recently discovered at the South and is guarded against.

THE END